Honesty and Hope
by Loretta Lyon
Summary: A Secret Santa gift fic for MysticalMagicalPineapple. Jane is injured just before Christmas and Weller needs to find his way through his own troubles to be there for her. Rated for swearing.


This humble fic is a gift for MagicalMysticalPineapple. Maya - Happy Christmas! I hope that your holiday was wonderful. Thank you for letting me practice my writing skills on you.

And now for some housekeeping items:

1\. I do not own anything having to do with Blindspot. Please don't sue.

2\. I jump around in time in a bit in this fic because...well, why not? If you find that you are feeling confused, just keep an eye on the dates so as not to be completely lost as you read.

3\. Finally, this takes place after 1x10. I trust that all y'all have amazing imaginations and can create backstories for the different non-canon details I've included. But, if you like, here is a brief summary of _my_ non-canon backstory:

After meeting Oscar, Jane was completely honest with Weller and the F.B.I. Weller didn't take the new information well and requested a leave of absence and is avoiding the team. Without Weller there to talk her into coming back and revoking her resignation, Zapata has not yet returned to work. Reade was promoted to interim Lead Agent for the team, and two new members have joined - Special Agent Mal Singh and Special Agent Samya Hasan. (Because we need a more diverse workforce represented, so - again, why not? I might as well abuse the (limited) power I have.)

4\. Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy your time away from real life.

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 **Monday, December 21**

Clicks, hisses, and soft beeps - each with its own rhythm - seemed more irritating than silence ever could be. Not even the muted activity outside the room could draw attention away from ominous sounds of machines working to monitor and maintain life. Reade, his fingers curled loosely around Jane's still, cold hand, fished his phone out of his pocket with his free hand and sighed when he saw the time.

"Jane," he leaned closer to speak in her ear. "I've gotta go now, but Patterson will be by later. I'll see you tomorrow." He gave her limp hand one final squeeze before he gathered his coat and walked out the door.

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 **Monday, December 14**

" _It's all clear back here. Looks like somebody left in a hurry though._ " Singh's cultured voice calmly reported.

"We're not seeing a whole lot up here," Reade responded. "Hasan and I are going to make our way down to you."

Jane's voice crackled over the earpiece. " _Did they know we were coming, or did something else spook them?_ "

"That's the question," Reade responded absently as he collected the fourth member of their team.

Sam fell into step with Reade and made her own comment. "Hopefully leaving in a hurry translates to more evidence for us to work with."

" _Well, there is a rich array of junk for us to sort through, if that helps you at all,_ " Singh offered dryly. " _As a bonus, the stench is."_

What he was about to say about the stench was lost as Reade and Hasan heard Jane bellowing, " _Singh, DOWN!_ " Followed immediately by sharp cracks of gunfire.

" _Jane!_ " Singh yelled in return before he began to rattle off information to the two teammates who were now sprinting down the corridor to get to the staircase. " _Jane's hit. Three shooters. One is down. The other two took cover behind the dumpsters to the north, between us and the street._ "

"Shit!" Reade swore, his mind racing. "Hasan, the fire escape! It should give you an angle on the two behind the dumpsters."

"Where are you going?"

"I am going to street level to come up on them from behind."

"No," Sam protested. "I'm faster. I'll make better time down the stairs, old man."

Reade scowled at the reference to his age, but accepted her words. She was fast - faster than the rest of the team, Jane included. There was a good-natured competition between both women now, and Jane had yet to best the lanky agent. "Go," he ordered, "call for back-up on your way." He changed his own course to the window fire escape.

It was tricky, but he was able to maneuver into a position that gave him a workable shot at the two criminals focused on Singh. Ideally, they'd take at least one - if not both - into custody, but with agents under fire, Reade cared more about their safety than about the lives of the two hostiles. He took careful aim, fired, and saw the first fall with a bullet in his back. The second, realizing that they were under fire from above looked around in panic. When he saw Reade on the fire escape, he brought his gun up. Reade ducked away from the bullets that slammed into the brick wall to his right. Before he could take aim again, Hasan was there, ordering the man to drop his weapon.

Wisely, the man realized that he was out-gunned. With a grimace, he dropped his gun. Hasan approached and commanded, "turn around, hands on your head." Reade watched as he started his way down the fire escape, his gun still ready should it be needed. "Singh, can you get to Jane?" He yelled.

"I'm on it." Singh yelled back. "We're going to need a bus."

Reade, now down on ground, checked the downed man. He was dead. He checked in with Hasan, "do you have this?"

"Go," she replied, turning the now cuffed man around and pushing him roughly to sit on the ground. "Check on Jane and Mal."

Reade swerved around the dumpsters and raced down the alleyway to where Singh crouched over Jane. "How bad?" He demanded breathlessly.

"Hit twice, chest and abdomen." Singh's hands were red with her blood, as he tried to keep pressure on both wounds.

Reade dropped down on Jane's other side and took over care of Jane's chest wound. He could hear sirens approaching. Help couldn't arrive too soon. "Where's the third guy?"

Singh jerked his head down the alleyway to the south. "He came up from behind us. I don't know if Jane heard him or what, but she pushed me out of the way. Ended up getting shot. I pulled my gun and shot him and then we were taking fire from the opposite direction."

Reade had craned his neck and saw the crumpled form that Singh had indicated before nodding and returning his attention to their downed teammate. Keeping one hand to maintain pressure, he reached for her neck to check her pulse. Thankfully he found one, but it was weak.

Activity swirled into the alleyway as back-up and paramedics arrived. Singh and Reade were relieved of their duties. Jane was swept away to the ambulance in short order and the two men were left, bloody-handed, watching after their teammate.

"She asked for Kurt." Singh remarked quietly, his words for Reade's ears only.

Reade closed his eyes and let loose a long sigh. "Yeah," he finally said. "Yeah, okay."

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 **Wednesday, December 23**

Kurt was surprised to see someone he knew sitting on the bench outside his apartment building. Ever since _that night_ , his stomach twisted whenever he approached his building to see someone sitting there. This time was different only in the fact that - as he recognized Patterson - his apprehension increased ten-fold. Up until now, his colleagues had respected his desire for space. Mayfair approved his leave of absence without argument, and after he ignored all attempts at contact, the team - what was left of it - had stopped calling and emailing. Well, until last Monday. Both Reade and Patterson had called on Monday. Still not ready to speak with anyone involved in _her_ case, he'd deleted their messages without listening to them.

Now Patterson was camped out at his door. His irritation rose. He'd made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with _her_ or the cases that her tattoos brought in.

Weller contemplated simply walking into his building, ignoring the scientist, pretending he hadn't noticed her there.

Luck was not with him. Even as he thought about breezing by, Patterson looked up and saw him. She shot to her feet and walked to meet him. "I need to talk to you." It was a demand, not a request.

Kurt's mind raced. If he let Patterson have her say, it was likely she would leave immediately after. If he tried to stall, tried to _not_ listen, she would be like a terrier with a bone. So, should he fight the inevitable for form's sake, or should he just get it over with?

Honestly, he was tired. Tired of it all. He had almost no fight left in him. Dully he responded, "So, talk."

Patterson paused, taken aback at his easy capitulation. She quirked her head and studied him for a moment. Pity appeared briefly in her eyes, but she ruthlessly pushed it away. She drew herself up for battle. "You need to grow up, Weller."

"I...what?" He demanded. Maybe he had more fight left in him than he thought. _"I_ need to grow up?"

"Yes." Patterson refused to back down. "You act like you're the only one affected by Jane's past, like you're the only one to suffer."

"Hey," Weller interrupted. "She targeted _me_ , not you, not anyone else. Me!"

"And we don't know why," Patterson shot back. "We hardly know anything about her past. We," Weller interrupted before she could finish her thought.

"We know that she _chose_ this." His voice dripped acid.

Patterson's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You jackass! She put herself through...through _torture_. Do you think she enjoys having no memory of her past? Do you think for one minute she didn't suffer for this mission of hers? She didn't choose to wipe her memories, to put herself in danger, because it seemed like it would be a laugh-riot." Weller tried to speak, but this time Patterson rolled right over him. "Do you think it's a relief to know that she is responsible for all of this? No! Now it's worse for her. Not only did she deliberately hurt herself, but she has to live with the knowledge that she's hurt others, too. That she's hurt you. And SHE STILL DOESN'T KNOW WHY!" Patterson was yelling now. Kurt found himself stepping back, trying to avoid her wrath. She simply followed, invading his space. "We don't know why, either. But we know Jane. Hell, it was you who told her you thought she must have been a good person before all this." She glared at him. "Maybe she is better off without you, if this is how little loyalty you have. Better that she learned early on not to trust you."

"Trust me?" Kurt bellowed. He'd had had just about enough. "She betrayed us!"

Patterson refused to be intimidated. She simply lifted her chin and calmly said, "Maybe. We don't know that. She chose _you_. Maybe she thought that you were an ethical, trustworthy agent who would fight corruption once it was brought to his attention. Maybe she trusted your drive to uncover the truth no matter how disturbing." She shook her head, looking profoundly disappointed with the lead agent. "I guess she misjudged you."

Refusing to admit her words stung, Weller sighed. "What do you want, Patterson? Did Jane send you? Because I'm still not ready to talk to her."

"What I wanted was for you to respond to the message I left for you last week, but clearly you didn't even bother to listen to it." She didn't want for him to confirm her suspicion. She seemed weary as, almost mechanically, she explained. "Jane was shot last week. They almost lost her twice. Once in the ambulance and again on the table. She hasn't regained consciousness. The doctors aren't sure if she will. I mean, there's a chance, but she hasn't improved much since her surgery."

Kurt froze at the news and stared at Patterson in horror. She either ignored his sudden distress or was unaware of it. "I'm giving you the chance I didn't have with David. I pushed him away because I was angry and embarrassed and scared, and I lost him. _I_ lost him! And it wasn't worth it. Trying to protect myself from hurt didn't work." She was fighting tears now. Poking a furious finger at his chest, she choked out, "it doesn't work, you asshole. Stop it. Just...get your head out of your ass and go see her." Patterson drew in a deep breath, struggling to regain control. "Reade said that the last thing she said was to ask for you. For what it's worth."

Having said all that had been on her mind, Patterson turned, leaving Kurt to stand, dumbfounded, on the sidewalk outside his apartment building.

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 **Monday, December 14**

 _This is Kurt Weller. I can't take your call right now. Leave me your name, telephone number, and a brief message and I will get back to you._

 **BEEP**

"Weller, this is Reade. Listen, man, I know you don't want to be disturbed, but Jane...Jane is in the hospital. She was shot, and it doesn't look good. I thought you should know. Just...give me a call back if you want me to keep you in the loop.

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 **Thursday, December 24**

"It can be a shock." The nurse was a large black man named Dave Keller with tired eyes and a voice that rumbled like distant thunder. "Seeing a person all hooked up to these machines. She's off the ventilator, though, and that's a good sign. Now, all we can do is watch and wait." Dave effortlessly switched out the bag for the I.V. drip before he slipped past Kurt's chair to continue on to the next patient waiting for his attention. "You can talk to her. It might help lead her back," he offered as he exited the room.

Alone with Jane again, Kurt huffed out a breath. Talk to her. Sure. That's why he'd come, wasn't it? To sit with her and let her know that he was there. If he wasn't going to commit, to go all in, then his visit was pointless.

Talk to her.

He rubbed his sweaty palms against his jeans and cautiously reached out his left hand to cradle hers.

Her fingers were so cold. He tightened his grip briefly, wishing that he could force some of the warmth of his hand into hers.

Talk to her.

"Jane," his voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Jane," he still didn't have any words. What was he supposed to say? The beeps and clicks of the machinery around them offered no suggestions, no inspiration. After a long, suffocating silence, Kurt sighed again.

"You, uh, you probably didn't expect me to come. It was Patterson. Patterson came and told me to get my head out of my ass and come see you. She was...huh...I guess I never saw her that mad before. I think I'm on her shit list now. You know, before I would have said that it'll be easy to get her to forgive me, but now? I don't know. Don't tell her I said so, but she's a little scary when she's directing all her anger at you."

Absently, Kurt rubbed his thumb over her knuckles - back and forth. Back and forth.

"I suppose," he cleared his throat again. "I suppose I'm a little scary, too, when I'm directing all my anger at someone. I guess that you've been my target for long enough, hmm?"

Finding the words seemed to be getting easier. Perhaps it was because he didn't have to meet her green eyes and see fear or judgment or condemnation in them.

"It's just," he shook his head. "Jane, I have to wake up everyday and know that none of this is real. When you get your memories back, all of 'em, when you remember everything, you'll realize that none of this is real. I'm just a, hell, I don't know. A resource, I guess. A tool. Right now, you need me to fight these battles with you, but - when we know everything about your past - you won't need _me_. You won't _want_ me."

His shoulders slumped and he lapsed into silence for a while. The machines ticked away the moments while he continued to hold her hand, to caress her fingers.

"It was easier, in some ways, believing that you were a victim. Eventually we would have found out who did this to you and why - not that any reason would be good enough to torture someone the way they did you." Kurt bowed his head, choosing his words with care now. "I suppose I should be relieved that this was your idea. Don't get me wrong, as plans go, it may be the dumbest, most self-destructive thing you could have come up with. It was stupid, Jane. Do you know how many ways this plan could have gone wrong? How many ways it could still go wrong? Yeah, maybe your body remembers the combat skills, but you're still at a disadvantage, not being able to recall your past experiences. The risks you're taking with your life, Jane. God, it pisses me off! And now, you're lying here with bullet wounds and no guarantee that you'll wake up."

Kurt wanted, badly to get up and pace. Actually, what he truly wanted was to throw things or get involved in a brawl. Something - ANYTHING - to help bleed off the rage that he was valiantly trying to repress. Instead he tightened his grip on Jane's hand, feeling desperate...broken.

"Jane," this time her name came out as a sob. Kurt sucked in one breath, then another. He was trying to calm his racing heart, to battle the lump that settled into his throat. "Jane, I walked away." He needed to get this out. Keeping secrets from each other had a history of making things worse, not better. Of course, treating her revelation as though it had been a secret she was keeping rather than new information for the both of them hadn't been fair. Still, they knew what worked for them. "Jane," he sighed. "I walked away from you because it hurt, realizing that you'd eventually leave. I thought," he chuckled, a strained, unhappy sound. "I thought that if I walked away first it would hurt less."

He brought her captive hand up and gently rubbed his cheek against it before placing a kiss on her knuckles and lowering their joined hands to the bed once again. "It won't matter, Jane. Together or apart, when you leave me, I won't...I can't..." With his free hand he wiped at the tears on his cheeks. "Jane...Janie, _please_. Please don't leave me."

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 **Friday, December 25**

Dave had been replaced by Stella and Stella had been replaced by Hengel. Kurt suspected that they would kick him out soon, send him home to get some rest, some food, to clean up. Up to now, they'd been placated with the fact that he had taken breaks away from Jane's bedside, but a crappy sandwich out of a vending machine and a walk around the block in the unusually mild December afternoon wasn't going to appease them forever. Stella, for one, had been less than impressed when she caught him dozing, bent over so his head rested next to Jane's leg, her hand still trapped in his. Now that he was here, though, facing the reality of Jane's injuries and the possibility that she might not wake up, it was going to take more than strong suggestions to get him to leave.

For a man of few words, Kurt had talked more in the past twenty-four hours than he generally did in an entire month. After the first time he begged Jane to stay - and after he'd calmed down a bit - he began talking about...anything that crossed his mind, really. First it was Sawyer and how eager the nine year old was for Christmas. Sarah and Sawyer were already out of town, visiting her in-laws for the holidays. They'd swing down through Pennsylvania to visit Kurt's dad on their way back tomorrow. He talked about the day when Sawyer was born, the first time he'd held the skinny, bald, squalling infant and had fallen head over heels for the kid.

Then he'd started telling her stories of how he met Reade, Zapata, even Mayfair.

After that came stories from his college years, from high school, from childhood. Anything that occurred to him became fair game. If she needed to hear his voice to wake up, then that's what he would provide.

Oh, there were times when Kurt would lapse into silence. They were usually preceded by Kurt telling Jane that it was time for her to open her eyes, that she should stop screwing around, that she was just being lazy now, that he needed her, so please, please wake up.

Maybe he shamed her into it (unlikely), but they were sitting there in the quiet when Kurt felt something flutter against his palm. He jerked his gaze away from the white wall that he'd been staring at to peer at Jane's face.

"Jane? Can you hear me? Squeeze my hand again."

His heart thumped painfully once...twice...three times before he felt the sensation again - a whisper of skin against skin, Jane's fingers against his palm.

"Good, Jane." He was quick to assure her. "That's good. I don't suppose you'd open your eyes for me?" As he spoke, he groped for the call button to summon Hengel. His eyes never left her face, and his breathing quickened when her eyelids fluttered.

He wasn't able to ask for her to repeat the experiment before the nurse arrived. He was shooed out of the room while Hengel, followed by the resident on duty turned their full attention on Jane.

He paced the hallway, up and down, a good dozen times before he was allowed to go back in. All they could tell him was that it looked as though she was coming out of the coma. It was likely that - over the next few days - she would regain more control over her body, would be able move her limbs and track objects with her eyes as instructed by medical personnel. She'd spend more time unconscious than awake, but what little they got from her now was hopeful.

"Go home, Mr. Weller," Dr. Patel instructed him. "Get a good night's rest. You can come back again tomorrow. You never know, she may progress more quickly than we expect her to."

Kurt wanted to protest, but knew that it would be unwise. With a sigh he nodded and then returned to Jane's room. Daring greatly, he pressed his lips her forehead before saying, "I'm being sent home, Jane. I'll be back tomorrow."

Making his way to the hospital had been a challenge. He'd warred between guilt and dread and nearly turned back home more than once. Now, though, making himself leave her side was close to impossible. Long minutes later, he finally forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, out of her room, out of the hospital, and back to his car. Tonight would be endless, but he had hope - a fragile thing that needed protecting. Jane was coming back. For now, that was enough.

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 **Saturday, December 26**

"She's definitely improving." Dave was back on duty when Weller arrived. "She's a fighter."

Kurt could only agree before settling down on the chair. He felt just as apprehensive as he had on Christmas Eve, only this time it was more because he was dreading Jane's reaction to his presence. Maybe her injuries had been a catalyst for Kurt getting his head on straight about what mattered, about what he wanted. Jane didn't have the luxury of the time he'd had by her bedside. He'd hurt her. She might never forgive him. It was possible that he'd ruined everything. To be honest, he expected that he had.

He didn't have anything to lose, though by being honest. If she was done with him, she could tell him so as easily after he apologized...groveled, really...and begged her forgiveness.

And if by some miracle she forgave him, well...

"Jane," he said quietly. "I miss you. Are you ready to wake up?"

Apparently she wasn't. There was no reaction to his words and Weller settled in for another long day.

It was less easy to talk this time. He'd run out of things to say hours before. They sat in silence for long stretches of time and Kurt found himself repeating the same things over and over when he did speak.

I miss you.

I'm sorry.

Forgive me.

Wake up.

I need you.

Please.

There were times when she would move. Her hand would tighten weakly around his or her eyes would open for a moment. She didn't seem to be able to focus on him, on his face, but the fact that she was so much more animated than on Christmas was a gift in itself.

The sun had set a couple of hours before and Kurt was trying to figure out if he could convince the staff to let him stay all night again when - unprompted - Jane grasped his hand. Looking up, he saw that her eyes were trained on his face. "Jane?" His voice was quiet with a panic of hope. "Janie?"

Her lips parted and he heard a whisper of sound. In an instant he was on his feet bending over to bring his ear closer to her face.

"Urt," came a gasp. "Miss," the pauses were agonizing. "Too."

Kurt pulled back, as he tried to understand her words. There was no way she'd just said... "Jane?" His voice shook, but he couldn't care less about that. "You...missed me, too?"

Her lips twitched up - as though she was trying to smile. Her energy flagged and her eyelids drooped again.

"Thank you, Jane." Somehow Kurt's face had ended up buried in her dark hair. What else could he say? "Welcome back. Missed you. So much."

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In case you care about rough draft nonsense, here is a section that I removed from Thursday, December 24. It galloped off into the realm of implausibility and I couldn't find a way to lead it back to a point where I could salvage it.

 **Thursday, December 24 (Deleted Scene)**

It took Kurt Weller an embarrassingly long time to travel from home to St. Paul's Hospital. If one started the clock at the moment Patterson walked away from him, it took more than twenty-four hours. If one was more lenient - MUCH more lenient - and started from the moment he walked out his door, a trip that should have taken fifteen minutes (give or take) took closer to an hour.

He had second thoughts as he walked down the stairs and almost returned home. He froze for long minutes, pulled in two directions by guilt and dread, until the sound of another resident opening the door to the stairwell started Weller moving again, still in the direction of the parking garage.

He was trapped by doubts again once he was settled in the car. If Jane woke up to find him at her bedside, would she be disappointed at how little he could promise her? He didn't know if he'd ever be able to forget, if he'd ever be able to trust. And without trust, working with her in the field was not possible.

But, if she didn't wake up...

Kurt started the car and made his way out into traffic.

The route he took had him pass a florist. The site of the bright, cheerful blooms in the storefront window had him pulling over into an empty space as he faced his next stumbling block. They weren't friends. Not now. They weren't friends, but they had been...something...once. There might not be a word for what they were, but he was going to see her in the hospital. Because she had been injured and might not survive. Should he bring her flowers? A plant? A balloon? There weren't any rules - that he knew of - for this situation.

After agonizing over this choice, Kurt was able to get on his way. He was accompanied by a tiny pine tree in a pot decorated with tiny ornaments. Even if they weren't friends, it was acceptable to make her room a little festive for Christmas, wasn't it? It was just a decent thing to do.

Then, he found himself stalling once he got to the hospital.

He dragged his feet from the parking structure to the reception desk where he asked for her room number.

He dragged his feet from the reception desk to the elevator.

He dragged his feet from the elevator to the I.C.U.

His heart was pounding as her room came into view, and he felt sick.


End file.
